


Look to the sea; do you think of me?

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Category: Redwall
Genre: AU, Angst, Canon Divergent, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Grief, I like that Redwall shows platonic so well, Injury, Journey, Luke and Ranguvar live AU, Making Up, Martin The Warrior - Freeform, Mentions of Death, Mutism, Near Drowning, OOCness, Permanent Injury, Ranguvar and Luke are def platonic but read how you will, Reconciling, Trauma, a lot of this is little moments clipped together, also my formatting is best to read on mobile, and Gonff grew up under tyranny, blood mention, do not repost to another site though link sharing is fine, inlcuding Martin, look we have a whole bunch of ex-slaves, msot goes the same, no beta we die, spoilers for Legend of Luke, travelling, up until Legend of Luke, what was lost and what was gained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: Luke and Ranguvar don't drown with theGoreleech.
Relationships: Luke & Martin, Luke & Ranguvar, Luke & Vurg, Martin & Gonff
Kudos: 9





	Look to the sea; do you think of me?

**Author's Note:**

> For Readwall-abbey on Tumblr! Hope you enjoy this!!!
> 
> Edit: I’m realizing I’m not supposed to put this up until the Jan 24th one Tumblr so hopefully they don’t see it yet!
> 
> Some of this will be a little fast-paced at parts, apologies. Also, some things are obviously deliberately changed.
> 
>  _To The Sea_ by Seafret is a very Martin song; kid's been through a lot.
> 
> Image to go with it here

Scrabbling she breaks free of the heaving waves, for just a moment.

And then she's under again. She can't leave Luke, won't.

The seas are a writhing, angry mass; sand and grit and the dark bring forth confusion. But still, she can see shadowy shapes, feels bodies fighting to get past her to the air.

She's lucky, to see the ship's wheel.

To see a form tugging against it.

She struggles to reach him, desperate for air but desperate even more so not to leave him.

She doesn't remember reaching him, nor breaking the wood he's chained to.

Doesn't remember him growing limp, or dragging him up with her, even with the heavy chains.

(She does remember, vaguely, them being pounded into the rocks, herself squishing against Luke, and feeling bruised.)

But then-

Then they are free, choking up sea water and trying to stay afloat. Luke is unconscious and gurgling, body still trying to breathe for him.

But they're alive.

They're alive.

* * *

Atop the pinnacle they can see half of the ship, wedged there. Many beasts, now free, flood out, chasing whatever corsairs are left. Some are chased off, forced to jump into the tumultuous sea. Others are thrown off onto the rocks below. Thankfully, the rain washes away any blood.

It's carnage.

But despite the wrath urging her to wreck havoc, she focuses on Luke and getting the water out of him. He saved her, helped her gain vengeance and freedom - he's a true friend and she won't abandon him. Especially not like this.

He eventually coughs it all up, as the battle is dying down around him. He wheezes, remaining limp and struggling for breath. Ranguvar stays with him, squeezing his paw.

* * *

Hours later - almost a day, really - Most of the freed oarslaves are leaving, making for shore now that the storm is over. Amongst the mass Exodus, Beau and Vurg find them resting.

“We’ve salvaged what we can - we’re using the ship as a shelter. Dulam and Denno are aboard. Do you think you can make it up?”

She nods.

Beau stoops down to pick up Luke, “I’ll get this old feller, eh? Up y’come!”

It doesn’t take long to find the rope ladder - a quick, makeshift affair but sturdy enough. She’s sure to go last, ready to grab Luke lest he slips off of Beau’s shoulder.

The worry is unfounded, however, as they make it up safely.

There’s still noise, as other creatures search for anything useful, but majority of the freed slaves have left already, so it’s mostly just them.

Vurg administers to Luke, muttering the whole while, while Beau searches up some supplies with Dulam and Denno. Ranguvar sits.

* * *

It’s dark by time he wakes; they have one candle they strived to dry out and light. It throws light on their faces, with shadows clawing around them.

“Luke,” Ranguvar puts a paw on his shoulder as he starts, “it is safe.”

“You’re right there old lad; though barely any tuck survived I’m afraid.”

Vurg gently takes a damp cloth, patting his forehead with it as Luke gives a muffled groan. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, friend. You were injured grievously. Your throat is in bad shape.” He slows his administrations. “We. . .don’t have much in the way of herbs, or healers.”

Luke looks at him, reaches out, and gently grabs his wrist. They’re silent, just looking at one another. He lets go and that seems to be the end of their ‘conversation’.

"We'll just have to take each day, wot," Beau ladles some broth he had managed to make, "now get some of this in you, Luke m'lad."

Ranguvar also accepts a bowl, with a dip of her head.

It's quiet, besides the supping of their supper.

But Ranguvar has never really been chatty, anyways.

* * *

As the weeks go by, they mostly stay on the ship - Beau's been fondly calling their residence, _Arfship_. They mainly stay in one room, or sit out in the sunshine.

Beau usually makes supply runs, while Ranguvar tries her paw at fishing. It's . . . mixed results. Especially when Denno joins her. Either way, they're no longer hurting for food. 

Luke goes to shore with Vurg one day; he's worn and drawn when he returns. Vurg himself is. . . melancholic? He's sad, but it's the sort of resigned sadness, she'd say. She doesn't push, though Vurg takes the time to shake his head and say, "No sign of our tribe. They're long gone."

Which means Luke's son is long gone.

He sits out where the rock drops sheerly, footpaws hanging over the edge. She joins him.

Hours later, he rasps out, "Gone."

She throws a paw over his shoulder. There's not much else she can do.

* * *

Seasons later - many seasons later - a young mouse will come from the North, an old blade strapped to his back. He'll pause by the caves on the Northern shore, but he won't stay.

They're all long gone, after all, and he'd rather not hang around sad memories.

It is a morning thick with mist. A morning those of the _Arfship_ have no reason to go ashore.

The young mouse continues South.

* * *

Seasons later still - many more, this time - when they are beginning to become old, used to their peaceful isolation, that young mouse will return with others. To try to find memories he had lost, answers to questions he once had.

They will go to the ship lodged on the tall rocks, curious.

And things will be different.

* * *

Luke can't talk.

He used to be able to struggle and rasp out words, but the injury to his throat was severe and never fully recovered - the pain wasn’t worth the effort.

Which is fine, because they come up with an easy enough system, and Vurg is his best friend and knows him the most, Dulam and Denno have known him for a lon time, and Ranguvar doesn't talk much anyways, and Beau talks enough for _both_ of them.

It never really bothered him, once he got used to it. After all, it was just the four of them - and he could communicate, in a way.

But right now he’d give anything to talk.

Martin - his _son_ , _his child_ , is here. He’s an adult now, strong built and lean, with his mother’s eyes lit with a fierce fire.

He looks like his grandsire, Martin, quite a bit. But his eyes. . .he’ll always take after his mother in that respect.

(He has long since grieved Sayna; he would always love and miss her, but that hurt is replaced with fond memories. His son, though -

He’d never fully gotten over that, afraid he had been murdered, or was far, far away. That he’d never have the chance to see him again.

But here he is.)

Martin doesn’t recognize him right off, or even Vurg; though Luke figures age will do that to you. His companions are strangers as well; a gleeful fellow of a mouse, a mole lad, a hedgehog maid, and a fearsome otter. (He’ll learn later that there’s others ashore: a whole tribe of shrews known as Guosim and a young squirrel.)

“Martin, do you, do you recognize us?” Vurg asks, pulling Luke along with him. Dulam and Denno stay back.

His son looks at them, long and hard, but there’s a mist in his eyes, like any memory is too far out of reach.

“No. . .I.” He looks away a moment and sucks in a breath. “Sorry.”

“My Matey’s been through one too many battles,” the gleeful fellow says, clasping Martin on the shoulder. “I’m Gonff, Prince Of Mousethieves by the way. And you already seem to know Martin here; there’s Dinny, Trimp, and Folgrim,” he indicates the mole, hedgehog, and otter.

Vurg swallows, and Luke knows he’s just as nervous as he is. “The squirrel is Ranguvar Foeseeker, and that windbag there is Beau,” Ranguvar (still young looking, though she moves slower these days) raises a paw, and Beau shouts and indignant ‘hey!’ followed by him muttering alterations of his full title.

“Over here is Dulam and Denno,” he waves the two mice closer, “I’m Vurg, and this is Luke. Your father. We were part of your tribe.”

And like that the air becomes somber. All antics cease, and it is suddenly silent.

“. . .Father?” It’s a question, disbelieving, seeking confirmation.

Luke nods.

“But. . .you never came back.”

It’s a fact, the way he says it, long accepted. Luke feels tears and wipes them away with a weathered paw.

“Let us go up, and share explanations,” Ranguvar suggests.

The newcomers glance at the ship, and follow them up the ladder, all the while Beau jovially explains _Arfship_ ’s name.

* * *

It takes a long time, to get through the full story. Dinny dips out at one point when Log-a-Log comes over to assure them all is fine.

When it comes to their own story, Gonff explains their trip to the northern shore, which brings them backwards to Redwall Abbey and how it came to be. Martin explains that while he remembers bits and pieces of fighting Tsarmina, and even coming into Mossflower, the injuries he sustained seemed to have contributed to memory issues.

“Sometimes a mem’ry is too much,” Ranguvar says. “An’ either is consumes you or hides away.”

(Luke remembers her telling him, in further detail, how she became Foeseeker. The things she had endured. Although he wished he could have spoken to comfort her, he knows she’s a creature of action, not words. A hug had conveyed all that had needed to be said.)

After their tales are shared, it’s decided that the four of them will be shipping out to Redwall Abbey. They’re old, far along in their seasons, and it sounds like a wonderful place.

He knows Ranguvar is anxious, with how she clenches her paws. He is too. The half ship has been their home for seasons now, and they’ve been so isolated. It’s a scary thought, leaving to be with others.

But. . .

It’s also a chance to get to know his son. And apologize for not being there.

* * *

Ranguvar is somewhat surprised, when Martin approaches her.

He gives her a glance over; she knows she is now old, nowhere near as strong as she was in her younger seasons, even as her coat stays glossy and black. But he doesn’t look at the age in her posture, the cloudiness in her eyes.

Instead he gazes at her like a kindred spirit. This is a warrior observing another warrior.

She’s more touched than she thought she’d be.

She goes back to her task, packing up any food they have. She speaks without looking at him. “You seem strong.”

His voice is nonchalant; the equivalent of a shrug. “S’pose so. You as well.”

Ranguvar laughs. “Old now; not as strong as I once was.”

She feels his eyes on her, and turns to him questioningly.

“Strength isn’t always physical,” he mutters. Then he shakes his head softly. “I came to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Her ears twitch.

Martin makes a gesture with his paw. “You helped rid the world of Vilu Daskar and his evil crew. You saved my father. For those things, I thank you.”

Ranguvar shakes her head. “We saved one another; he’s my friend.”

“But I still appreciate it,” he insists. Bites his lip, and looks away.

Oh.

Okay. That makes sense.

“Go speak with him,” she urges gently, pushing him. He allows it with a stumble. “He may not speak words, but he listens. And finds ways to answer. Go.”

He looks at her, and she tilts her head.

Then he goes.

* * *

While the others get their meager belongings together, Luke goes out to sit on the edge, looking down at the drop beneath his paws. He holds a little pouch in his paws, tracing over the beads stitched into the fabric.

Martin sits next to him without a sound; he gazes out towards the horizon, leaning back on his paws.

“I’m thankful that you saved others,” he murmurs. The sky is orange as sunset approaches. “I know someone had to stop Vilu Daskar. Mother needed to be avenged. There were so many in danger. I just. . .” He sighs.

Luke wishes he could speak.

Instead, he listens.

“As a child, I wished you had never left. That it didn’t have to be you. I remember that much, at least. But now. . .” Martin doesn’t look away from the horizon. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I think.”

Luke wants to say, _that’s okay_. And, _none of it was your fault_. But he can’t. So instead, gently, slowly, so Martin can pull away if he wants, he takes Martin’s paw, and places the little pouch in it. He curls his claws over the bag and gives it a firm shake, once. _Keep it_ , he hopes he conveys.

Martin looks at him - really looks at him. Then turns the pouch over, tilting his head quizzically. He pulls open the drawstring and turns the bag upside down.

Out drops a stone, many-hued. It looks like it’s soaked in dawn colors, and it’s smooth, sea-worn. With it is a scrap of fabric, small and obviously torn from some older, bigger piece.

On it is a figure not unlike Martin or Luke; armored, resolute, and leaning upon a sword. It’s some ancestor of theirs, he’s certain. Perhaps his grandsire?

Glancing at Luke, he guesses this is something his mother wanted him to have.

He holds the stone in his paw, curls his claws closed and holds it near his heart for a moment, his eyes closed. He takes slow, deep breaths.

Then opening them, he leans forward and lets the stone fall into the sea. “For my mother, Sayna.”

There’s nothing to say besides that.

They watch the sky burn from orange to red, then bleed to pink, and finally, fade to purple. A few stars spring up.

Then Gonff is yelling for them and Martin stands, offering his father a paw.

Luke takes it with surprise, and grunts when Martin pulls him into a quick hug.

“I forgive you, for leaving,” he whispers.

Then he lets go, and they wipe their tears, and leave.

Home is waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the angst. I have my own thoughts on Luke I had to express in this; there's also the fact that I haven't read this book in a bit, so some things will be off!
> 
> I COMPLETELY forgot that Dulam and Denno were even there until I flipped through the book to double check some things. So uh, sparse but I included them.


End file.
